Alice
by Jackidy
Summary: All is not what it appears, do you trust those around you or yourself? Because, after all, madness is not a state of mind. Madness is a place. Lets go there, shall we?
1. Down The Rabbit Hole

Title: Alice  
Rating: T  
Pairings: N/A  
Characters: Various  
Variation: Alice Madness Returns AU

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Character death and Mentions of paedophilia later on.

Summary: All is not what it appears, do you trust those around you or yourself? Because, after all, madness is not a state of mind. Madness is a place. Lets go there, shall we?

Notes:

Based on the game of Alice Madness Returns. Massive fan of the game and I started this a while back.

Characters:  
Patrick O'Hara/Northern Ireland - Alice Liddel  
Adriaen Anderson/Netherlands - Dr. Angus Bumby  
Peter/Sealand - Orphan Boy  
Anya Braginski/Nyotalia Russia - Nurse Witless.

xxx

"Come on now Patrick, it's only a dream."

_The teapot trundles along to his side of the table, practically tipping itself over as it begins to pour tea into the waiting porcelain cup before him. Its large red eye blinks at him before scuttling back towards the middle, passing the hare and the mouse on the way._

"No it's not, it's a memory!"

A deep chuckle and a sickening smirk. "Focus, now, you're floating again. You're weightless, relax."

_Everything seems to melt away then, the hare and the hatter dissolving into nothing as fire seemed to erupt around him, the shouts and screams of battle raging behind him as he stared horror struck up at a malicious queen sat upon her throne. His heart is hammering in his chest at the demonic face grinning down at him._

"I…I'm in hell."

"Forget it!" There's force behind that voice. "Abandon that memory, it is unproductive. Go to Wonderland."

_There are flashes of faces, flashes of the creatures that reside in this world. Of rabbits, caterpillars and monsters, of friendly faces and those who want – wanted – to harm him. His heart is still hammering as everything becomes black, stood in a single spotlight and staring a little blankly up at the brilliant white light._

"I can't…" He breathes it rather than speaks. "I'm trapped…In my past."

_He can hear the voices of the firemen, passing under the stares of people with no faces as a fire roars behind him. Everything is bathed in the glowing red and orange hues of the fire light as their faces begin to twist into those of monsters, an ever present sound of a ticking clock getting louder and louder._

"No Patrick, discard that delusion. Forget it." The forceful edge is back again. "Go to Wonderland."

"I don't want to. My Wonderland is broken, dead." There's a sigh and a groan.

_The fire is gone and so has the burning heat, replaced by a forest and river and the dark sky by a cloudless blue one with the sun beating down on him. He's confused, he's lost. He doesn't know where he is or why this place seems so familiar but he is bemused all the same._

"Your preference I care for not, boy. Now Patrick, where are you?"

"I'm…I'm sailing with a friend."

_He stares at the white rabbit across the lily pad boat, smile tugging at his lips as warmth spreads through his hand from the cup held within them. He was in Wonderland again. But something had changed; something was different about his Wonderland._

"Oh?"

"But it's different somehow, things…things have changed."

"Change is good. It's the first link in the chain of forgetting."

_His eyes widen a fraction as the other begins twitching, breaths becoming short as the rabbit seemingly has a fit, twitching and shaking in a way that only those who are mad can. What…what was happening?_

"What's wrong? Have you gone mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"Rabbit…"

"That can't be right, what is he doing there!"

"Is something…"

_He's bleeding now, blood pouring from his sockets and mouth like a crimson froth, words bubbling from his bloodied mouth before the rabbit groans. Then it explodes, blood falling like rain before being joined by something distinctly tar like as he begins trembling with fear and horror._

"No…No, not that!"

"Don't struggle Patrick, let the new Wonderland emerge."

_Everything becomes contaminated then as the trees die away and the once blue waters turn to tar, heads and limbs stuck in the goo and twitching at every passing second. He's in hysterics as the arms start crawling aboard, grabbing and pulling at his arms and legs, slowly creeping up his struggling body._

There's nothing but a shrill scream to break the silence.

xxx

"There, better now, are we?" He doesn't reply straight away, he's curled up on the sofa shaking. The doctor sighs as he reclines on his desk, taking a drag of the cigarette between his lips as he just watched the shaken redhead. Such a pretty thing, it was a shame he hadn't succeeded yet. But there was still time for that.

"How can I feel better?" He starts quietly, not looking up at the doctor as he stared intently at his knees and the worn wooden floor of the room. "My head has exploded and there's a steam hammer in my chest. How does that make me better, Dr Anderson?"

Anderson laughs off the question like it's nothing as the pallid redhead finally looks up from his limbs and at him. "The cost of forgetting is high; the pain is only a small price to pay in order to gain it." He says it in a way that he supposes is supposed to be reassuring but it does nothing for him. He's not sure he even wants to forget anymore if it meant feeling like he was having a heart attack after every session.

Patrick doesn't voice his concerns over forgetting or not as his therapist moves to sit on the seat opposite him, clasping his hands and resting them on his legs as he stared intently at his patient. "I'll set you free Patrick, memory is often a curse more than a blessing."

"You've said that before and…"

"And I will say it again; the past must be paid for." There's a force to his voice again that silences any argument Patrick may have had, dumbly nodding and looking down like he was ashamed of arguing back with the other. "Good, now for our next encounter I would like it if you could pick up those pills from the high street chemist, okay?"

"Right, I will doctor." He begins to uncurl then, feet hitting the floor and pushing his body up before heading towards the doorway, aware of Anderson's eyes on him all the time. Patrick blinks at the small blonde boy waiting outside the door as he opens it, beaming up at him in a way he thought couldn't be healthy.

"It's my turn to forget, Patrick!" He watches as the boy passes by and takes the seat he'd been curled up in only moments before.

"Ahh Peter, your father was hung for killing your mother who used to beat you. Let's forget that, shall we? The past is dead, Peter." He's left before the doctor starts speaking but he can still hear his voice as he pauses outside the door to catch his breath, wondering if it was still right to get rid of his memories.

He shakes his head, regaining his breath and starts making his way to the exit, passing the orphans who just stared at him as he passed. They must have heard the screaming, why else would they be staring at him like that? Maybe he should just try harder at forgetting, maybe if he finally forgot all these broken memories he'd be better then.

A shiver runs through him as he steps out onto the streets of London, it's surprisingly cold for August but he can't complain. The market is busy and bustling, the tradesmen shouting and boasting about their products and how they were a higher calibre than those of the stalls around them.

His attention focuses on a cat not too far ahead, a cubby thing that seems somewhat out of place in the dirty streets with its orange fur. "Here, kitty, kitty." The cat just meowed at him before running away or at least Patrick supposed it was running. The feline seemed to be waddling more than anything. "Wait up!"

He's not paying attention to where he's going just that he's following the cat he's now caught up with, the orange tabby showing a sign of annoyance at the sudden company but stayed quiet anyway. The cats gone when he reaches a dark passageway, staring round as he suddenly becomes panicked, where…where was he?

He turns as he hears a deep growl behind him, hand coming to his mouth as he gasps in horror at the man. Only it isn't a man. In place of his head is that of a monster, the boy practically hyperventilating as he began walking backwards and away from him only to walk into something. Turning on his heal, Patrick is shocked to find another and another, quickly surrounded by the humanoid beasts.

He's just about ready to scream when there's a hand on his shoulder, gasping and turning only not to find the beasts but Nurse Braginski smiling down at him, seemingly unaware of the fear the other was feeling. "Bless my soul, if it isn't Patrick O'Hara. Slumming again, da?"

"Nurse Braginski, what luck." He can't hold back the sarcastic edge to his tone, scratching at the skin on his wrist as he turned away from her. "Twice in as many months, how lucky of me."

She seems to ignore his words, smiling that usual childish grin down at him. "Out by yourself, you're looking a little startled. Not quite feeling yourself today, are we?" He shakes his head in response, trying to end the conversation as quickly as he could. Lord knows he wasn't the fondest of the other. "Come along home then and look at my birds, da? Pretty little things just like you."

He shifts uncomfortably at the comparison. It was one thing to be called pretty but another to be compared to a pigeon of all things. "That's a lovely offer and that but I would rather not. Our last meeting cost me several pounds and it's gotten me nowhere." The childish grin grows a little wider then, like she knows something he doesn't. He hates it when she does that, no he despises it.

"If you come along I might recall where that rabbit of yours got to."

xxx

_Still a mess, no surprise. His kin roasted like chestnuts right before his eyes, ten years in Rutledge asylum wasted everyone's time. Doctor Anderson won't do much better, still hauling out his questions. The Fire, his memory. Don't I deserve some consideration? Who found him his new clothes? Who got him a place at Anderson's? Where'd he be without me?_

_On the streets selling his backside! Likes my pigeons though. So he's doled out the odd pound or two but what I know is worth more than that. Kept his secret, da. Heard him say 'all died on my account, I couldn't save you.' I've told him my silence is for sale, cheap, I'm a good soul really._

_Not like his nanny, that uppity whore or that lawyer fellow, Edelstein, who took his stupid rabbit. Need money, told him I'd tell the coppers if he didn't make his donation to my upkeep. He yells and goes off his head! Says he can't even remember his name._

_But I heard._

_xxx_

He pauses by the exit to the roof as the Russian woman begins to feed her pigeons, cooing the filthy birds in a way that could only convey that the blonde was not all there. "Nurse Braginski…" The towering giant of a woman turns to face him then, giving him a look that could only say that she wished for him to continue. "Do you…do you wish to harm me, to send me back to the asylum?"

She laughs. She actually laughs and turns back round with a swing of her skirts as she turns her attention back to her birds. "I won't say no, I've a thirst you can photograph." She moves between the cages and the redhead uncertainly follows her, moving closer but not that far from the exit. He had more sanity then trust for this woman.

"Need a drink." Her voice has changed, becoming deeper and wilder like some beast and it seems more of a demand than a question in that voice. She continues to speak but it's lost in translation as something loudly cracks and wings sprout from the nurse's back.

He starts backing away even before she turns, panic coursing through him as his heart starts beating at 150 miles per hour again. When she turns she isn't Nurse Braginski anymore, she's the same as those creatures from the alley, growling and screeching at him as it headed straight for him.

She was going to kill him; no, it was going to kill him.

The roof starts shaking, cracks appearing under his breath that snatches his attention away from the winged beast that was formerly his nurse and to the cracks as light beamed through them. He forgets to breathe as the roof gives way, waiting for the collision with the floor below only to not get one.

He's in shock as he falls, hearing the voices of Anderson and Braginski alike as he falls further and further. He passes pocket watches, furniture and dolls heads as well as other assortments of familiar yet foreign objects. Patrick continues to fall until he begins to slow; nearly coming to a stop before something seems to swell in him and explodes, soothing his troubled thoughts and making everything okay.

He only knew of one place that could do that, one place alone.

Wonderland. He was back in Wonderland.


	2. Snicker Snack

Sorry about how ate this is!

Characters featured:

Northern Ireland/Patrick O'Hara  
Wales  
Hungary

He braces his knees as he lands, taking a moment to just observe the scenery with a smile tugging at his lips as he began to wonder about the spot he was in. He felt lighter and healthier, like a giant weight had been lifted from his chest. Like he was finally home. "Journey as rough as ever but at least I'm away from Braginski here…or whatever she's become."

He's making his way across the domino stepping stones, finding the place he's landed vaguely familiar. Patrick jumps and comes to a sudden halt as a skeletal blonde cat appears on the bank, grinning up at him with red stained teeth and glowing green eyes. "Late as always but when has that ever been new? It's about time you showed up Patrick."

He glares down at the grinning cat, hands on his hips and half tempted to blow the hair from his face. He had hated that cat the first time round and his feelings hadn't changed since then. "I'm not in the mood for your riddles and patronising tongue, my return here has left me on edge."

The cat laughs, if that's strictly possible, "Perfect~" He purrs with his Welsh voice, grin growing ever wider somehow. "When you're not on edge Patrick, you're taking up too much space."

"As helpful and polite as always, I see, why does this not surprise me?" With a roll of the eyes he walks past the cat and further upstream. The more distance he can put between himself and that infernal feline the better, as far as he was concerned.

Patrick's glare worsens as the cat appears before him again, lounging on one of the many moss covered rocks and just grinning at him. "Can I help you or are you just going to be as unhelpful as usual?"

"You _know_ I can be helpful~"

"Only when it suits you and when there are scare tactics involved."

"You don't need me for them anymore." Though he's still grinning it wouldn't take a fool or a madman to know the cat was being serious for once, his voice less light and airy as normal. "A new law reigns in this Wonderland, Patrick. It's very rough justice to those who agree with it never mind oppose it, we are at risk here and you would do well to be on your guard."

The cats gone then and this time he doesn't come back, Patrick silently wishing that would be the last he would see of him but he doubts it. He highly doubts it. The cat had the habit of turning up at the most unexpected of time to simply patronise and insult, with advice somewhere mixed in.

Wonderland is just how he remembers it though there is something amiss, something wrong with it. He just can't put his finger on it and he's increasingly more confused on the matter as he continues his walk through the tranquil forest. If he loses his memories does he forget wonderland? The question nagging at his brain as the peculiar little insects fly over heard, coming to a stop by the bank of the stream he had crossed earlier.

He doesn't know if he wants to forget Wonderland.

It's not long until he comes to a clearing, hands pushing back the twigs as he stepped into and stared at the large glass bottle, seemingly supported by nothing, creating a lavender waterfall in the centre. A sense of familiarity comes about as he reads the drink me label hanging from the neck, he'd been down this road before only last time it involved a key and many a door.

He stands at the edge rather than going in straight away, how was he to know if the potion was what he thought it to be or not. He couldn't remember the fire so what was to say what he thought this liquid was wasn't false? "Though lacking a bathing suit," He jumps and turns to find the Cheshire cat curled up on a stack of dominos, "a plunge in that pool is in order."

He can't tell if the skeleton of a cat is telling him the truth or not but he takes it from the fact he hasn't been attacked yet that the cat was telling him at least something he should listen to. With a sigh Patrick steps forward and into the potion, feeling nothing bar a tingling sensation running up and down his limbs.

Patrick doesn't notice it at first, stepping out from the purple waterfall as things began to get bigger or is he just getting smaller? The watered down potion that had once barely covered his ankles was now up to his waist. "I fail to see how being this tall can be of assistance to me." He told the other as he walked back onto the bank and waiting as he began to regrow to his usual size.

"Always rushing to your own conclusions, did you not learn anything the first time round?" His tone is smug as he jumps down from his seat on the domino pieces and stalks over to the boy beginning to circle him and weave in and out of his legs. "I'll give you one of the upsides to being so small is that you can see and enter places invisible to your bigger self."

"Well isn't that just charming, I'd tell you to leave me be but I feel we'll be running into each other soon enough." He states earning a chuckle from the cat before he disappears again. He gets a strange sense of déjà-vu at the large keyhole before him, a somewhat bitter laugh leaving his lips.

All he needed was a table and a key and everything would be like last time.

He curses the cat as he realises he has no idea how to shrink. The other had stated he'd be able to do it as he pleased but hadn't told him to achieve being the size of a gerbil. He was going to skin that bag of bones the next time he saw it.

He plays with the idea of thinking of being small for it to work and can't believe his luck when it does, the keyhole that had been as tall as his shin moments before now towering over him. He begins his walk through the tunnel, amused somewhat by the fact that whilst it seemed to be taking forever to walk the distance this height it would have taken a few steps normal sized.

Patrick isn't surprised that he regains his height upon stepping out into the sun, taking a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. He's on a cliff, that much he can tell, though he can see some way down but that's not what's grabbed his interest right now. There's a child looking at him, the girl giggling before running off.

There weren't other children in Wonderland, right?

He starts climbing down as swiftly as he is able, falling here and there off of some of the smaller ledges and scraping his hands raw from the cliff face. By the time he's reached the bottom ledge he doesn't bother climbing the rest of the way down, simply jumping off and stumbling before chasing after the girl.

Why was she here? Why was there somebody else in his Wonderland?

He doesn't know where he is running just that he's following the girl who would wait for him before disappearing through the bracken or around a corner. He's panting and out of breath by the time he breaks into the clearing but he finds no girl waiting for him. It isn't what is waiting for him at all.

He finds the skeleton remains of some gargantuan beast, dagger gleaming from between its ribs in the little sun that came through the canopy of leaves above. "I thought I had seen the last of you on my last visit here." He's unsure of what he is saying that to, the skeleton or the blade but he can't deny he didn't wish to see either.

"The Vorpal blade is swift and keen." He hears him before he sees the feline, the cat appearing on one of the lost since dead beast's hind quarters with that ever present grin on his face. "And it is always ready for service." Patrick purses his lips before walking up to the giant rib cage and allowing his fingers to trail along the handle for a moment.

It only takes a second but no sooner was his hand on it was the blade free of its bony prison; he finds it strange how it seems more at home in his hand then it had done before. Running a finger along the cool blade, a frown comes to his face before he turns to the cat. "I've not come back here looking for a fight."

The cat laughs because all it ever seems to do is laugh, grin stretching even wider if strictly possible. "Oh really?" He chuckles, earning a glare off of the redheaded teen. "Well isn't that a pity, there's one certainly looking for _you_~" Patrick sighs and cuts the blade through the air before feeling his lips twitch upwards at a thought that had just returned to mind.

Though it seems the cat, as always, is a step ahead of him, shifting away as he lunges for the skeletal feline. He curses under his breath as the blade hits nothing before nearly losing his balance as something heavy lands on his back, a tail wrapping around his waist. "If you wish to kill me, you might want to employ less obvious tactics."

His claws dig in his back before Patrick swings round only to hit the pale smoke the other left behind when shifting. He turns the blade in his hand, glaring at his reflection in it before turning as he heard the giggling again. The girl was back, stood at the top of the slope out of the clearing with a light like fire silhouetting her.

Sliding the blade between his belt and his shorts, sliding a hand through his hair, he begins his accent towards the girl that had already run off. If he couldn't catch and skin a cat, he was catching this girl.

He's long since lost the girl and long since lost his way, the green and healthy wonderland he had been in moments before now replaced by one that was dead or dying. The air is filled with the ungodly stench of ruin and tar, pools of the black substance all over the amber floor. He finally gets what the cat meant about Wonderland being under a new rule.

His hand is itching for the blade already as he reaches the end of his decent, hand enclosing around the handle of the blade at his hip as he tentatively took steps forward. Green eyes scan the area, flexing his fingers around the hilt and pausing in the middle of the clearing. He hears a squelch and then another, turning his head to the side and seeing rapid movement behind him.

He turns on his heel without thinking, staring at the creature of filth groaning and rushing at him, hollow black eyes looking at him lifelessly as it screeches and charges even faster. Patrick doesn't have time to move, jumping back as a claw comes for him. An explosion of blue butterflies before the teen appeared again a few metres back, blade drawn before he charges himself.

To say it appears to be made of tar his blade slides through with little or no trouble, dashing away in a swarm of butterflies as more begin to appear. It becomes apparent that the substance they are made of is acidic as his leg starts burning upon falling in some of it whilst moving away from the army of doll faces monsters. "Fuck…"

He's up on his legs again, ignoring any strategic plan he may have had previously as he moves onwards to his enemy, slashing and hacking them down not even noticing the pain of their acidic goo hitting him as he continued on his killing spree. Patrick's panting for breath as he pulls his blade from the last of them, looking around for more of them until he was certain there were no more to be found.

He feels there's no point in putting away the dagger, twisting it in his hands as he pushes through the undergrowth into a more living wonderland. His hands are red and sore from the black material they were now caked in, tingling and burning beneath it as he wiped what he could off on the bark of the trees as he passed them.

Was this what that infernal cat meant by a new law reigning in Wonderland? The Red Queen was vicious and full of malevolence but he didn't take her as the type to cause that kind of destruction to the land she wished to rule with her tyranny. So who was this new ruler? It wasn't the White king was it?

With a shake of his head at his own thoughts he pauses by the river he needs to cross, dropping to his knees and imbedding the Vorpal blade in the bank before submerging his hands into the cold waters, hissing at the biting pain from them.

He can't help but think that if he forgot Wonderland then maybe he wouldn't have to deal with this.

Washing the blade and his leg he pauses for a moment as his thoughts catch up with him again. There was something much worse than that waiting for him out there, wasn't there? A curse leaves his lips as he pulls his now calmed leg from the water, staring at the red welts on his leg and touching one experimentally and hissing at the pain.

He was going to have to be more careful next time.

Pushing himself back to his feet and sliding the blade back in its place on his hip, he started to cross the river via the domino bridge not too sure on how he should feel about the anticipation of being attacked he now had. Patrick takes it as a sign that nothing is coming for him due to how vivid the forest is again, seeing no sign of the spoil that had come on the other side.

Maybe there was some truth in the phrase 'the grass is greener on the other side' after all.

He's conflicted as he comes up to a grand house or what was perhaps once one, a corner of the building crumpled and lying in the garden that left the downstairs of the home open to all. He knows who owns this house, a feeling of unease in his stomach as he gets on edge again.

His hand is enclosing the handle again as he heads for the hole in the wall, warily watching the woman by the cooking pot as she adds scraps of meat and spices to it. He'd got every right to be wary of her. On their last encounter she tried to kill and eat him.

It takes everything he's got to not draw his blade then, a shiver of unease running down his spine as she grins at him. "Ah! It's you again Patrick, you may come in." She's back to stirring her pot that gives the room the room the almost sickening smell of cooking pork.

"Why would I do that?" He begins, suspicions still running high as he gets slightly closer but still sticks to the edges of the room. "You want to eat me!"

She laughs then, shooting him a humoured look as she moved around her pot for more spice. "I've learnt the error of my ways it seems. Our last meeting taught me some manners." He can't help but sneer at that notion because it was without a doubt that she hadn't learnt manners, this Hungarian Duchess was simply too lazy to try and catch him again.

"I've lost my taste for mad men anyway, strictly a porcine diet for me. Everything tastes better with bacon, don't you agree? Of course you do." The Duchess takes a moment to sample the piggish stew before her, turning back to the still on edge yet somewhat bemused redheaded boy by the back door. "As I see you're itching to get outside, go fetch my pigs for the slaughter. They're round the back."

He pulls a face at the request. She wants him to bring in her pigs?

"Fetch them yourself! I am not here to do your bidding."

She laughs again, shaking her head at his words before gesturing to a pepper grinder with the wooden ladle in her hand. "Nonsense. It's a matter of priorities, I don't wish for the creatures running amok to ruin my alabaster skin. Besides, why should I when there's a boy made of madness already here?"

The Duchess leaves no room for argument or a comeback as she hitches her skirts on one side upon climbing up the nearby stepladder for a large meat cleaver. "Now take that pepper grinder and season them for me, they need some spice and you're just the dish to do it for me. Care to argue?"

He reluctantly agrees upon seeing his only other way out closed off, damning the woman for having a home that blocked the way as he took the pepper grinder and departed through the backdoor. He was expecting the deathly creatures from before, though perhaps a few less than what he had just faced but he finds something different.

Piles of scrap metal moulded together to form something akin to a hive that must have been home to the flying bolt flies around them. Flying bolt flies that turn on him as soon as the door shuts behind him. He doesn't curse under his breath nor does he reach for his blade, calmly aiming the gun like weapon in his hands and pausing for breath before firing.

It works better than expected, the tool insects falling the pieces in the air only for more to spawn from the scrap hives. He dashes forward, exploding into butterflies and landing metres in front of his previous position before exploding again, avoiding the bugs and pulling forth his blade and throwing it at the first of the hives in between explosions before reappearing before the hive he had struck.

He's dropped the pepper grinder, focusing all his attention and strength on slicing the hive open in means to destroy it. He lashes out backwards at the ever enclosing buzzing, knocking the flies to the side before continuing with his hacking until it split open. He's braced and ready for the oncoming swarm to attack but is surprised to find they don't.

Turning to the other three hives awaiting his destruction he picks his firearm, green eyes flicking to the bugs hovering above him before disappearing into a flock of blue and white butterflies again.


End file.
